


Lethe's Cup

by Sir_Thopas



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - One and a Half Stans (Gravity Falls), Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Stan Pines, Memory Loss, Paranoid Ford Pines, Post-Canon, Post-Weirdmageddon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:33:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27240514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Thopas/pseuds/Sir_Thopas
Summary: Dipper looked around at his family, at the little kid playing with Mabel, the nervous, paranoid wreck that used to be his Great Uncle Ford, and wrote down his observations.Mabel Pines -- lost one year. Stanford Pines -- lost approximately 30 years. Stanley Pines -- lost at least fifty years.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, looks like I fell down the rabbit hole. Only eight years late, lol.

Her face split, upon which gleamed tiny rows of sharp, white teeth between her mottled green skin. Stanley stopped struggling with the too-large-trousers tangled in his feet and _ran_. The trees crowded close, and he struggled to climb over roots and dodge branches. They tore at his sweater (too big, way too big, why was he wearing it?) and Stan had only just yanked himself free when his bare foot slid on wet leaves and down he went, tumbling through the forest. He felt his ribs knock against a rock and his mouth opened to cry out, but he couldn’t get enough air to breathe. He was rolling too fast. Then there was nothing _but_ air, the ground ripped out from beneath him, and he grasped helplessly at the roots of a tree that jutted out from the side of the cliff. 

_Splat!_

Stan’s chin hit the mud first. Blood filled his mouth as he groaned and spat, grasping at the soft, wet clay. He managed to get his knees underneath him. There was a small creek running beside him and about four feet up was the embankment he had fallen from. Clearly, he was in a forest. Were these the Pine Barrens? Ford had talked about going there a few times, to see the Jersey Devil. There _were_ a lot of pine trees around. At least, Stan was about 85% sure they were pines. He felt he should know better, being a Pines himself, but it wasn’t like Dad ever enrolled them in Boy Scouts or anything. 

He heard something move above him. It was heavy and it crunched against the pine needles. Steady, two-by-two, a person. The... the... whatever she was, she was back! Stanley scrambled back and pressed himself against the embankment, hiding himself beneath the roots of the old tree. “Stanley!” A woman called out. “Stanley, where are you!” Hah, like he was going to fall for _that_! 

Then there was a man’s voice, joining the woman’s. “Mr. Pines? Where are you, dude?” 

Wait, his Dad was here too? And did someone just call him _dude_? 

Stan tried to move quietly, but the mud stuck fast to his feet, making a _shluck schluck_ sound every time he lifted his foot to take a step. A shadow fell across him and Stan flinched, ready to run again, but it was just a girl, a girl who looked him up and down with a wild look and screamed, “Oh my God! Don’t move! Soos, get over here! There’s a child and he’s hurt!” 

Stan couldn’t quite remember what the monster lady looked like (when he tried to think back, he just remembered green and a lot of little white teeth), but he was pretty sure this woman wasn’t her. She was younger than his Mom, with dark blonde hair, and looked really worried about him, which was interesting. 

A man popped up beside her and Stan took a step back, ready to run again. He didn’t look angry, though. Just scared and worried, like the woman. “Whoa, hold on, little dude, I’ll be right down!” 

Wait, this was the guy who called his Dad “dude”? Stan thought only cowboys used that word. He looked over the man’s suit and fez. Definitely not a cowboy. That was disappointing. 

“ _Soos, he isn’t wearing any pants!_ ” The woman hissed. She was looking more agitated by the minute. Angrier too. Well, that at least was familiar. 

The man – Soos, apparently – didn't answer. He grabbed onto one of the roots, tried to shimmy down, slipped, and fell right on his butt. Stan laughed. 

Soos didn’t seem mind. He laughed along, shrugged, and tried to wipe the mud off as best he could. Stan found himself relaxing, the need to run oozing out of him as the man approached and placed one soft hand on his shoulder. “Hey, your ankle’s looking pretty bad there. Think you can walk on it?” 

Huh? Stanley looked down and saw that his left ankle was swollen and red, the skin perforated with at least thirty dime-sized holes, each one oozing a thick green mucus. He hadn’t even noticed. Stan shrugged, “It doesn’t hurt.” The soon-to-be-bruises from the fall hurt a lot worse. 

“How’d you get out here? Did you get lost while on the tour?” 

Was that what happened? Stanley tried to think back. The last thing he could remember was being on the swings with Ford. Maybe Dad took them all camping and Stanley had gotten lost and hit his head, forgetting everything like in those cartoons. Yeah, okay, the hitting his head part didn’t seem nearly as outlandish as Dad taking them camping. No way would that happen. He... got kidnapped and Dad refused to pay the ransom so his kidnappers tossed him into the woods? More believable than camping, at least. Stanley shrugged again, “I don’t know. Don’t you know?” 

Soos looked a little taken aback. He glanced up at the woman. “Oh, man, I don’t know. Should I know?” 

“You were calling my name. Stanley Pines. Well, that’s me. You’ve found him.” 

For a few seconds, neither of them did anything, but then Soos was surging forward, swiping at the mud that was covering his sweater... his blue sweater with a sailboat on it, who the hell dressed him up in this!? Before Stan could ruminate on his mystery dresser’s bad fashion choices, the man grasped Stanley’s face with his mud-covered hands and pulled him in closer. Stan squawked, “This is getting weird! Let go!” The man ignored him and peered into his eyes. 

“They’re so brown without the cataracts,” he whispered and yanked Stan into a ferocious hug that was dizzying and terrifying. Also, he definitely _did not_ like getting hugs from strangers when he was pants-less. “Mr. Pines! You’re so little!” 

Stan’s squawking reached a higher decimal, until the woman said, “Soos! We need to get him back to Ford!” His brother was here too? Okay, that ruled out kidnappers. Dad would probably pay a ransom to get Ford back. Probably, if it wasn’t _too_ high. 

Soos let him go, but he continued to stare at Stan like... he didn’t know. Wonder? Excitement? Shock? Sadness? Fear? Ford knew like _all_ the words, he’d probably be able to tell Stan exactly which one that covered all those things. And, he’d be able to ask, because the woman said they were going to take him to Ford. “Where’s my brother?” 

“Looking for you, dude. Come on, we’ll take you back to the Mystery Shack. We were going to meet back up there.” Soos took his hand, keeping an eye on his ankle, and led them down the bed of the creek while the woman followed above. 

“What’s the Mystery Shack?” 

The man gasped. “Melody! He doesn’t remember the _Mystery Shack_!” He looked back down and ruffled his hair. “Just wait, little dude. It’s, like, this shack, full of mermaids and... and mystery! It was built by the best man I know! _Mr. Mystery_.” 

This man, apparently, was not an architect. Stan squinted at it. It just looked like a cheap tourist trap to him. Not exactly the stuff of mermaids and mystery. Soos was about to lead him up the stairs when Melody stopped him. “Soos, let’s _not_ walk into the crowded gift shop with a bleeding, half-naked child, okay?” 

Soos gave her an exaggerated wink, put his finger to lips and motioned for them to follow him around the back. They entered just off the kitchen and pushed them up the stairs, and then up another set of even smaller stairs. Stanley thought briefly back to all those black-and-white videos his teachers made him watch about following strangers into their homes on promises of candy (or missing twin brothers, as the case may be). So, this was how he died, huh? Without any pants. He’d never live this down. Although, he supposed he wouldn’t care. Being dead and all. 

They stopped in front of an attic door and Stanley balled his fists, ready to start swinging in case the man decided to try tossing him in and locking away the key, when Soos hurried them all through. There were two beds set up, with suitcases half un-packed. One obviously belonged to a girl, being bright pink and _covered_ in glitter. The other one was a boring shade of blue. Soos rifled through the blue one and pulled out a shirt and a pair of pants. “Dipper won’t mind,” he said and handed them to Stan. 

An old woman was suddenly pushing at him to sit on the bed, wet washcloth in hand and a first aid kid under her arm. He hadn’t even noticed when she appeared. “Do you remember anything?” Melody asked. 

“I remember being with Ford. We were on the swings. I was trying to see if I could swing high enough to do a full loop. Ford said I couldn’t do it.” 

Melody laughed, then grimaced as the old woman wiped away the mud and blood and green ooze that caked his ankle. Soos leaned over to look at it. “Is it infected?” 

“No...” The old woman replied in a calm, soft voice. “This is something else.” She didn’t seem bothered by the green ooze. Even _Stanley_ was grossed out by it. He shivered as it ran down his foot; it was ice cold. The old woman took a clean, white bandage and wrapped it around his ankle. “There, now. Good as new.” The bandage was quickly turning a dark green color. The old woman started to pull the sheets off the bed, nearly upending Stanley from where he was sitting. She shook off the dirt and mud that he had gotten on them and felt a twinge of worry that she would start yelling at him, but all she said was, “I wash these now.” 

“Let’s get him into the bathroom,” Melody said and gathered up the borrowed clothes and Stanley found himself being pulled, _again_ , into another room. Stan yanked his arms free of the woman. “Where’s Ford? You said he was here!” 

“I said he was out looking for you,” the man answered. “And that he’d be back soon.” 

Melody touched his shoulder, but Stan squirmed away. “I’m going to look for him.” 

“You need to wash and dress first,” Melody said, her voice gentle like she thought he needed it or something. Stan bristled at the tone. 

“I don’t even know you!” He snapped. He started to inch his way toward the door. Maybe he could get to a telephone... 

Somewhere down below a door slammed. Someone was stomping up the stairs. He could hear a man’s voice, deep and angry. “--Don’t know _what_ Stanley was thinking. Oh, wait, of course I do! He _wasn’t thinking at all!_ ” 

Stan froze. Someone was in the house looking for him, and whoever it was sounded very, very angry.


	2. Chapter 2

“Come on, and join the tour with the _original_ Mr. Mystery!” 

Mabel had climbed on top of the counter beside Wendy’s elbow and made the announcement, topping it off with a grand flourish of jazz hands. Grunkle Stan was grinning beside her as the customers lined up, money in hand. Grunkle Ford, however... did not look very happy about all this. He grasped Grunkle Stan’s elbow and pulled him back some, speaking in his ear. “This isn’t a good idea,” Grunkle Ford hissed. “Do you even remember the trails?” 

Oh. Right. It was only their second day back, and although Grunkle Stan had regained most of his memories, some things were still fuzzy. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, but Grunkle Stan was already rankled, his voice blustering as he snapped back, “I remember them _just fine_. It’s a ten-minute hike, maybe they’ll see a gnome, snap a couple of pictures, and then we’ll be back. So, buzz off.” 

Grunkle Ford’s face grew red. “Fine!” He snapped, folding his arms. “Do whatever it is you’re going to do. Nothing’s going to stop you, least of all _me_.” He stormed off and Grunkle Stan turned back to the tourists with a gleaming, sales-ready smile as he guided them out of the shack. 

Oof. Mabel would have thought that spending a whole year stuck on a boat together would improve their communication. She dropped down from the counter and huffed out a sigh. “I’m starting to think boys just stay stupid, no matter how old they get.” 

Wendy clapped her hand on Mabel’s shoulder. “It’s a burden we must endure.” 

Mabel nodded solemnly. 

“Want to stick golf balls in the leaf blower and see how far we can shoot them?” Wendy asked. 

“Duh. Let’s go!” 

Wendy and Mabel climbed out onto the roof of the shack, leaf blower in hand, a sack of golf balls already waiting beside Wendy’s lawn chair. They managed to set off three car alarms before Mabel noticed how late it had gotten. She peered into the sky, noting the sun’s slow creeping descent into evening. Loud voices filtered up from the gift shop below. “You said the tour would take ten to twenty minutes at most!” A woman screeched. 

The forced happiness in Melody’s voice was painful to hear. “I know, I’m sorry, Mr. Mystery has taken the golf cart--” 

“I didn’t even want to come to this stupid place! I have an appointment with a spa in thirty minutes! If my husband isn’t back by then I expect full compensation for my missed appointment!” 

Mabel twisted the ends of her sweater. “The tour didn’t come back yet? It’s been over an hour, at least!” What if Grunkle Stan was lost? What if he had a memory lapse? Did he remember Gravity Falls and how dangerous the forest could be? Mabel felt stupid; she thought her Grunkle Stan would like putting on his old Mr. Mystery persona again. She should have thought it through before jumping on the counter like that. 

Wendy punched her arm. “Hey, don’t worry. We’ll find them. Let’s go get your brother and Ford and we’ll search for them.” 

Uh-oh. Grunkle Ford was going to be _mad_ when they told him. Mabel hoped he wouldn’t yell at Grunkle Stan. 

They climbed back through the window. Wendy peeked into the gift shop, saw the mob of angry tourists that had surrounded Melody, sighed and fixed her baseball cap like she was about to march into battle. She elbowed Mabel. “You got the nerds?” 

Mabel nodded. 

“See you in a bit.” Wendy sauntered into the breach, looking as cool as anything. 

Mabel continued on downstairs to Grunkle Ford’s old lab. Most of his old inventions and research had been carefully put away and the dust wiped off. There were boxes full of old Mystery Shack displays that had been replaced or updated – courtesy of Soos and Melody – and a long table covered in super glue, mechanical parts, and various taxidermized animals. Soos’s work station. Ford and Dipper were at another table – a much cleaner one – geeking out over all the anomalies Ford and Stan had come across during their sea voyage. Dipper saw her and, with an excited grin, lifted up Ford’s journal and pointed to a picture of a very scary-looking fish woman. “Look, Mabel! _Mermaids!_ ” He turned to Grunkle Ford. “When we were, like, five, she made us watch _The Little Mermaid_ every day for a whole year.” 

It was a good movie! Mabel laughed awkwardly, “Yeah, hey, uh, just thought I should let you guys know, Grunkle Stan hasn’t gotten back yet, _but_ Soos is already out there looking and--” 

Ford was already up and out of his chair, his knuckles white as he gripped his trench coat and threw it on. “I _told_ him he wasn’t up for it. Does he ever listen? _No_. Stubborn, bull-headed--” Ford muttered. 

“Don’t be mad at him!” Mabel cried out. “It was my idea!” 

Grunkle Ford gave her a smile and patted her head. “It’s alright, I don’t blame you. Your Grunkle just needs to learn his limitations. He’s not the same as he was before the memory wipe. I’ll be back. You two stay here.” 

Mabel watched him head back up. She felt Dipper nudge her. “He shouldn’t yell at Grunkle Stan,” Mabel said. “It’s just gonna make things worse.” 

“He’s worried about him. Doesn’t want him to get hurt again.” 

Yeah, and that was Mabel’s fault too, wasn’t it? Grunkle Stan never would have had to wipe his memory if Mabel hadn’t given Bill the Rift. 

Dipper poked her. “A missing Grunkle? Sounds like a case for the Mystery Twins!” 

Yeah, because screw what Grunkle Ford had said. No way was she and Dipper just gonna sit around when Stan could be in trouble. Mabel bumped her fist against Dipper’s. “Mystery Twins Powers Activate!” 

Mystery Twins Powers being A) a grappling hook, and B) a dog-eared copy of _How Not to Starve to Death in the Great Outdoors!_

As they made their way through the shack, they took a chance and glanced into the gift shop. Melody was gone, and Wendy stood alone against the frothing tourists. Dipper pointed at the forest and made a zipping motion over his mouth. Wendy winked at them, and turned her attention back to the tourists. Mabel and Dipper crept outside and headed toward the woods. “Let’s each take a different direction,” Dipper suggested. “And meet up again in ten minutes at the fake tree where I found Ford’s old journal.” 

Mabel nodded. “Got it!” 

“Let’s go!” 

Dipper took west and Mabel went east. She knew the area pretty well. There was a creek that ran through a small ravine. She headed there, picking her way along the slick, moss-covered rocks and the thick, wet mud. She twirled her grappling hook between her fingers, fixing it to her belt and then whipping it out again, practicing her quick draw, when she noticed strange indentations in the mud. Something about her size had been wallowing in it. A wolf, maybe? No, there were handprints. A person, then. Mabel rubbed her chin and examined the ground like she had seen in _Ducktective_. Chunks of earth and pieces of root were lying next to the handprints, probably from the tree hanging above the creek. So, that meant someone fell from the little cliff and into the mud? Made sense. Was it someone from Grunkle Stan’s tour? Mabel walked along the creek until she found a way up the embankment, then double backed to where she had found the tracks. There was a lot more evidence up on the cliff: crushed ferns and... bits of blood? Had they rolled down here? 

Mabel followed the path that had been cut through the forest. She could still hear the creek; in fact, it sounded like it was getting louder. Up ahead she saw a small glade next to an escarpment. Water flowed out of the rocks and into a small pool, that was then fed into the creek. It was... pretty. Mabel smiled and her eyes half-closed as all of the anxiety and fear she had been bottling inside of her ran out of her, like the water. It looked cool, and it was so hot and muggy. Wouldn’t it be nice to take a drink? 

Dipper’s voice floated through her head. “Don’t drink from streams!” It said. “That’s how you get cholera! Do you know what happens when you get cholera? You poop yourself to death!” The voice buzzed, and then fizzled out, like an old radio. Dipper was always worrying about something. Dipper. Dip-per. Dip... Hmm, she was supposed to meet back up with him, wasn’t she? When was she supposed to do that? 

Mabel walked up to the pool and dipped her fingers into the greenish water. It was ice cold. How could it be so cold on such a hot day? She twisted her fingers and the algae ran together, swirling and it... hey, it looked like a face! The face smiled up at her. “Welcome, welcome,” it cooed. “You have discovered the Fountain of Youth!” 

The Fountain of Youth! Mabel looked up at the brilliant, afternoon sky. Her head was feeling fuzzy. The Fountain of Youth! Wait until Dipper heard about this! The face pulled itself out of the water, revealing a whole algae-covered head, neck, and shoulders. The Algae-Woman smiled at her and Mabel could see rows upon rows of tiny, white teeth. “You have regrets,” she said. It wasn’t a question. 

Oh. Yeah. Thoughts of her Grunkle Stan and the memory gun floated back to her. Mabel nodded. 

“The Fountain of Youth can undo all of that. It will strip away the years, the pain, the sadness--” 

The Dipper voice that was always in her head buzzed, but Mabel couldn’t make out the words. “How does it work?” 

“You must take a drink from its waters, and then I – the Fountain’s guardian – must also take a drink...” The Algae-Woman smiled, teeth gleaming. 

That sounded wonderful. Mabel didn’t like sad things, and here was her chance to undo everything. To go back to the way she was, without all these horrible feelings twisting inside her. Mabel dipped her hand into the ice-cold water and leaned down to drink. She felt something scrape against the back of her neck, puncturing the skin and white hot _pain_ flooded through her. With a screech, Mabel reacted, withdrawing her grappling hook with lightning speed and firing it at the Algae-Woman. It hit her in the throat, knocking her off of Mabel and back into the water where she disappeared. 

Mabel looked over the edge and glared into the murky water, trying to find... trying to find... 

Where was she? 

Mabel scrambled away from a tiny pond and looked all around her. She was in a forest. Yes, of course, her parents were making her go to Gravity Falls for the summer. Her and Dipper both. They had been on the bus, driving through the forest. Dipper told her she should put on her seatbelt. “Remember that demonstration in kindergarten?” He asked. “With the toy car and the egg? And how you cried? You don’t want to end up like the egg, do you?” 

Mabel had stuck out her tongue. “We’re almost there.” 

Had the bus gotten into a crash? Had she flown out of the window like the egg? She looked around, but didn’t see the bus or Dipper or anything else. Maybe she had hurt her head and wandered away from the crash site? She started to pat herself down, looking for any injuries. She felt what seemed to be three little puncture wounds on her neck and something cold and wet running down her back. She withdrew her fingers and looked down at the mixture of blood and green mucus. Infections don’t usually set in that quickly, do they? Oh man, she needed to get Dipper and find a hospital! Dipper! Was he hurt? And... and why was she holding a grappling hook?

Mabel fixed the grappling hook to her belt and got to her feet, her knees shaking, and tried to figure out how to get back to the road. She took a few steps, the leaves crunching under her feet until she hit something soft. She looked down and saw a pair of trousers and... really weird brass rings? She picked it up, noting how heavy it was. It was technically only one ring, but it was made to fit on all four fingers and the top of it covered her knuckles, jutting outwards into dangerous points. There were also flecks of blood and... something green on it. Maybe the ring and the pants belonged to one of the other bus passengers? Although why they were missing their _pants_ of all things, she didn’t know. 

Mabel gathered up the pants and the ring and started walking, hoping she was going in the right direction.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you. 

Mabel’s scrapbook called back a good chunk of Stan’s lost memories, but dark spots remained. The biggest one was Bill. Stan remembered the chaos of Weirdmageddon, the monsters, the fight. But wherever Bill was meant to take the stage, the space remained empty. Ford would be yelling in a vacant room. Some invisible force would land a punch against the shack-turned-robot. “Me and Ford tried to do it,” Dipper said. “But he got captured by--” And then his voice would go out, like static. 

Ford knew all of this, of course, because sometimes he would watch Stan’s dreams. Stan didn’t know about the Dream Reader. If he did there would be _words_. Mind-controlling necktie words. Body-swapping rug words. Shape-shifting monster words. “Seriously, Poindexter,” Stan asked. “Did you become a supervillain to fund your research?” 

Stan wouldn’t understand, because for him to understand Ford would have to explain about _Bill_ and Stan not remembering Bill was the whole point. What if remembering Bill brought him back? So, Ford continued dodging Stan’s questions and monitoring his dreams. 

It was only a matter of time before it came crashing down. 

The boat rocked against the choppy waves. Stan mumbled somewhere in the darkness from his berth. Ford continued to sketch in his journal. This one was different from the others. For one thing, there were a lot more scratch-and-sniff stickers in it. He dabbed at the ink with a towel before retracing the fangs of the monstrous Siren. The merman (Merboy? Mermando was fourteen at most) had been grateful for their assistance in rescuing him from the Siren. He had mentioned something about fleeing an arranged marriage and reuniting one day with his true love before Stan helped him back into the water. Or ‘yeet’ as the kids say these days. 

Ford tapped his pen against his chin. Did the Siren have two fins on its back, or just one? Better take another look. Mermando had informed them that he knew of only one way to properly destroy a Siren: drop it in an underwater volanco. Since there weren’t any convenient volcanos to yeet it in, Stan and Ford had left the Siren’s carcass wrapped up in a plastic tarp and placed it in storage until Ford could think of a way to properly dispose of it. The boat’s hold wasn’t very big. There was the bedroom, the galley, and a storage room that Ford kept his specimens in. Ford left the bedroom and went to the storage room. He opened the large freezer and jerked back in surprise at what he saw. The Siren was still there, wrapped in plastic, but it had already reached an advanced stage of decomposition. Its face was sunken, the scales were sloughing off of the bone. The algae that had clung to its skin had dropped off and was pooling in the bottom of the plastic bag. This shouldn’t be possible. They had killed the creature less then 24 hours ago and the freezer should have preserved it. 

Ford leaned forward. Funnily enough, now that the terrifying spikes had rotted away, it looked just like a regular mermaid. 

_Thump!_

Ford’s heart leapt into his throat at the sound and the lid to the freezer crashed down. The bedroom. Something had happened. Was it Stan? Had he fallen? There was no muffled cursing, no sounds at all. Ford’s hand was already on his gun (and Stan never asked why he carried it with him everywhere he went, just like Ford never asked Stan about the baseball bat he kept underneath his berth, the brass knuckles in his pocket, the knife in his shoe) and pushed open the door to their bedroom. 

Stan wasn’t there. 

He was panicking. Ford’s brain could still neatly catalogue all signs: elevated heart rate, labored breathing, shaking hands. His body, however, refused to listen to his brain. Shut up, Brain, it said. You’ve gotten us into enough trouble. Stan is gone, no time to think logically. 

He threw a quick glance into the galley. Nothing. That left the deck. He had to be on the deck. Because the only other option would be the sea, and if he had fallen overboard then-- 

Ford let out a hiss as the breath he was holding was released. Stan was standing at the bow, his back towards him. “Hey, Sixer,” he called, without bothering to turn around. “Nice night, huh?” 

It was cold and the waves were choppy and Stan knew he didn’t like being called that anymore. “Not really. What are you doing up?” 

“Could ask you the same thing.” 

Ford wished he would turn around. It was rude, to keep talking with your back turned. The polite thing to do would be to look a person in their eyes when they spoke to you. 

“‘Sides,” Stan continued. “It gets kinda hard to sleep when you keep poking around inside my brain.” 

Ford kept still, even while his stomach twisted with anxiety. He wished Stan would turn around. “You... know about that?” 

“About your spying? Yeah. You think you’re going to find him in there? Is that what’s got you so scared?” 

“Stanley,” Ford whispered. “Please turn around.” 

He did and in the moonlight Ford could see the yellow of his irises where there used to be brown. 

Ford awoke with a half-bitten yelp, his fist reflexively striking out, only to get tangled in his blanket. He twisted, rolling until he rolled right off the top berth and onto the floor. Ford was still lying there, groaning underneath a pile of blankets, when Stan poked his head in. “You okay?” He asked. 

“I wouldn’t keep falling off the damn thing if you’d just leave me to sleep in my chair,” Ford whined. 

“So, I can listen to whine about your neck the next morning? Nah, no thanks.” 

“Is that coffee I smell?” Ford stuck his head out of the blankets, his gaze focusing on the blurry image of his brother and the white blob in his hand that he assumed was a coffee cup. He groped around for his glasses, fixing them to his face and—yes, it was! He grabbed the coffee and started drinking. 

“You’re welcome, you ungrateful bastard,” Stan said. 

Ford hummed contentedly. 

“Hey, when did you get such good taste in music?” Stan asked, seemingly apropos of nothing. 

Ford made confused noises as he tipped the cup back to get the last few drops. 

Stan held up the journal he had been working on last night. “The Siren business,” he said, tossing the journal into Ford’s lap. “All you wrote were the lyrics to a Cream song. Makes me wonder what you got up to at Backupsmore if you were listening to psychedelic rock.” 

Ford fingered the page, tracing over the words. _And the colours of the sea bind your eyes with trembling mermaids, and you touch the distant beaches with tales of brave Ulysses, how his naked ears were tortured by the sirens sweetly singing._ He didn’t remember writing this. It had happened before, writing things down and not remembering them, with Bill... but Bill was gone, and even if he had still managed to survive somehow he couldn’t take over Ford’s body, not with the metal plate in his head. 

But... but there was still Stan. Ford watched him as he turned back to the galley, where he could smell breakfast being fried in a pan. It didn’t look like Stan’s handwriting, it looked like Ford’s, but Stan had learned to forge their parents’ signatures by the time they were in fifth grade, who’s to say he hadn’t learned to copy Ford’s during all those years he was pretending to be him? “Have you been sleeping alright?” Ford asked, careful to keep his voice neutral. 

He heard Stanley groan from the galley. “Not this again. When did you become such a mother hen?” 

Ford pulled himself up and followed after him. “Stan, don’t be difficult. What is the name of our grand-nephew?” 

“Dipper.” 

“And our grand-niece?” 

“Mabel.” 

“Where are we right now?” 

“The ocean.” 

“Very specific.” Ford rolled his eyes. “And... you _have_ been sleeping well?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan grumbled as he flipped the pancake. “Better than you anyway.”

* * *

Ford doubled back to the shack, his anxiety spiking with every passing minute that Stanley remained missing. At least Dipper and Mabel had remained behind; he couldn’t handle having Stan missing, _and_ those two wandering about. He needed them safe. He needed them all to be safe. 

There were just bright spots of color at first. Hot pink. Sky blue. Hawaiian print. He broke through the tree line and saw the gaudily dressed tour group Stan had taken into the forest. They wandered up the stairs to the gift shop. They were back. Stan was back. Ford gazed over every head, looking for gray hair and a red beanie. He couldn’t spot him through the crowd. He needed to see him, to make sure he was alright. 

Ford broke into a jog and raced up to the gift shop just as the last tourist entered, letting the door hit the frame with a bang. Ford yanked it open and stepped inside. There was Wendy, arguing with a customer, the tourists... but no Stan. Where was he? 

“F... Fred?” The woman that had been arguing with Wendy -- something about missing her spa appointment -- turned to stare at a young man. He was perhaps twenty years old, with a fanny pack and plaid socks. There was a bite wound on his neck that was oozing something greenish, but the man didn’t seem to notice. It looked painful. How was he ignoring it? 

The young man –- Fred, apparently -– stared in confusion at the woman, before suddenly reeling back in shock. Or possibly horror. “Mary Jo? Is that you?” He asked. “You... You’re so old! I... I _really have_ traveled through time!” 

“I keep telling you,” some kid spoke up, flicking his long bangs out of his face. Ford’s hands itched for a pair of scissors. “You didn’t time travel. You just got... super young.” 

“ _What. Happened._ ” Ford ground out from between his teeth. 

Everyone turned to look at him. Wendy slowly inched backward. The boy flicked his head again. “I dunno. Everything was normal, but then someone noticed he--” the kid jerked his thumb at Fred. “--was missing, so the old guy went to go look for him. We waited for a while, but when he didn’t come back I followed the tracks he left. I found them by this pond, and this dude was on the ground. There was something in the water and it had the old guy by the ankle, but he was really wailing on it! Just _pow_! _Wham_!” 

Great. Perfect. Of course. At least Stan was up and fighting. That soothed his anxiety some. “I’m going to get some supplies and when I come back down you’re going to show me where this pond is,” Ford said. 

“I’m going to have to ask my mom first,” the kid said. 

Ford ignored him and pushed his way through the crowd, bounding up the stairs two at a time, nearly knocking over Soos’s grandmother as she came down with an armful of dirty sheets. Stanley should never have taken that group into the forest alone, not without Ford. He shouldn’t have gone at all. Anything could have happened, and Ford wouldn’t know about it, not until it was too late and-- “Don’t know what Stanley was thinking. Oh, wait, of course I do! He wasn’t thinking at all!” 

He needed to get into Dipper's suitcase. Ford knew Dipper had copied some of the pages from his old journals before they had been tossed into the Bottomless Pit. This creature didn't sound familiar, but Ford had come across literally hundreds of monsters during his time here. There might be something in those pages that could help.

Ford threw open the door to Dipper and Mabel’s room and stopped dead in his tracks when he came face to face with a ghost. 

Stanley stared back at him– and it _was_ Stanley, there was the gap in his teeth, the messy brown hair, the dirty fingernails. Except this Stanley was only about ten years old. He was still wearing the sailboat sweater Mabel had knit for him and clutching a pair of jeans to his chest as he stared wild-eyed at Ford. There was a bandage on his ankle, and Ford remembered what the boy downstairs had told him. Melody and Soos stood next to Stan. “Uh, hey Mr. Doctor Pines.” 

Ford ignored him. “Stan--” 

Stan didn’t let him finish. Ford let out a yelp as Stan landed a kick right into his knee. It buckled and he landed hard on the floor. Stan was out the door and down the stairs like a shot.


	4. Chapter 4

Dipper went west.

He knew that somewhere beyond the thick line of trees there was the old highway that brought the tourists to the Mystery Shack. He could hear the faint hum of cars. He had never bothered to explore this part of the woods; there were fewer anomalies here. Whatever unseen border that made Gravity Falls _Gravity Falls_ ended somewhere around here.

He was so preoccupied with looking for Stan that he didn't see the sudden dip in the trail. Gravity upended itself and he was staring at the rapidly approaching ground.

"Oof!" Dipper felt the air leave his lungs as he landed face first into the dirt, his foot snagged on a rivet in the ground. He sat up, patted his bruised -- but not bloodied -- nose and saw that he was half-sprawled on top of tire tracks imbedded deep into the mud. In fact, now that he was actually _looking_ , it wasn't a trail at all but an old dirt road. Maybe forest rangers once used it?

Dipper leaned in close to the tracks. They weren't that old. Not exactly fresh, because the mud had since hardened, but still easily recognizable.

Dipper followed the tracks, curious about this mystery driver. Why drive out into the woods? Why _these_ woods? The tracks were too big to belong to the golf cart Soos used and the locals knew better than to drive around here.

The tracks took him east, where Mabel had gone. Dipper checked his watch. He still had some time before he had to meet back up, and it looked like the tracks would take him back to where she was anyway.

He could just make out the sound of running water when the tracks stopped. They crisscrossed over each other, the vehicle turning itself around and heading back down the dirt road it had driven, back to the highway Dipper presumed. Just a lost tourist then? Dipper caught sight of something glinting in the mud. He walked over and picked up a seashell necklace, caked in dirt.

All around where the necklace had been the mud was disturbed, but not from the mystery car either. The dried streaks made it look as if something was _dragged_ through it. He looked out and saw that the grass and ferns were crushed.

Dipper felt a growing sense of excitement as he worked through the mystery. A stranger drove deep into the woods, before unloading something -- something _large_ by the looks of it -- and dragging it even farther into the woods. Dipper's mind immediately conjured up images of a duffle bag full of one hundred dollar bills or maybe even _solid gold bars_. Who else would want to hide something in the woods other than a bank robber? Dipper looked at the necklace in his hands. Was his mystery bank robber a girl?

He wanted to follow the trail, but he needed to get back and meet up with Mabel. They had to find Stan. _Then_ they could search for buried treasure.

Dipper hurried back to the fake tree. He was nearly bursting with the need to tell his sister what he'd found. Mabel wasn't there yet, but it was only a few minutes past the time they had agreed on. That meant there was still another five minute wait in Mabel Time.

When _those_ five minutes had passed, Dipper started to get a nervous. But he wasn't going to panic! There was this... thing, after he'd been separated from her during Weirdmageddon. He didn't like not knowing where she was; he was always scared that she'd disappear, that Bill had taken her again. It was pretty bad that first week back home. They didn't have the same classes this year and Dipper itched to go find her, to make sure she was still _there_. But he was getting better! He was dealing with it. Mabel felt guilty enough about everything that had happened, he wasn't going to start adding _his_ problems on top of everything she was dealing with. So, he forced himself to wait.

At least until he saw his Great Uncle Ford walking toward him with some kid in tow. The expression on Ford's face was stormy. Dipper dove into the nearest bush and prayed Ford wouldn't see him. "Why, yes, Great Uncle Ford, Mabel and I did directly disobey your orders and now not only is Stan missing, but so is your great-neice!" He was so dead.

"Uhhh..." The kid came to a stop next to the fake tree and looked around. "I think the pond was... this way?" He pointed in the general direction Mabel had gone.

Ford rubbed his temples. " _Thinks it's this way_ , he says," Ford muttered to himself. "Great. Go back to your parents, I'll take it from here."

The moment the kid left, the angry expression evaporated from Ford's face, leaving him looking scared and hollowed. Something in his coat buzzed and Ford fumbled to pull out a walkie-talkie. "Yes? Yes? Did you find him?" He barked out.

Soos's voice crackled over the line. _No sign of the little dude yet,_ he said.

"Well, keep looking!" Ford snapped and shoved the walkie-talkie back into his coat. He started walking in the direction the boy had pointed him in.

 _Little dude_? Who was this little dude they were looking for? And the pond the boy had mentioned? Did that mean they had found Stan?

Only one way to find out.

Dipper adjusted the brown hunting cap Wendy had given him and followed Ford into the woods, making sure to remain several feet behind him. When Ford hit the creek, he started following it, his movements becoming excited and twitchy.

Dipper somehow... _felt_ the glade before he saw it. His fears for Mabel and Stan ebbed away and he felt himself drifting. He almost thought he could hear someone singing. The glade was so beautiful, and the water so green and refreshing.

"Welcome, welcome," a high, feminine voice called out. "This is the Fountain of Youth."

Dipper stayed hidden in the undergrowth, though Great Uncle Ford didn't look angry anymore. He saw his shoulders relax, his body swaying slightly as he came to stand next to the pond's edge. A woman -- a green, algae-covered woman -- broke through the surface of the water and smiled up at him.

 _That's a lot of teeth_ , Dipper thought mildly.

"Such a hard, terrible life you've led," the woman cooed. "So many mistakes, so many missed opportunities. Wouldn't you like to undo it all?"

"Yes," Ford breathed.

"Then come... Take a drink..."

Ford knelt at the edge and leaned forward. Far more quickly than Dipper realized, the woman launched herself up and wrapped her arms around him, keeping him immobilized as she sank her teeth into his neck. Jagged loooking spikes jutted out from her back and beneath the algae her skin was mottled, like a corpse.

Ford cried out and began twisting, trying desperately to free himself from her grasp. She must have anticipated this, however, because her claw-like nails dug into his arms, piercing the skin. Ford was... changing. He looked... He looked younger.

It took a few minutes before Ford's screams penetrated the heavy fog that had clouded Dipper's mind. He yanked back, shocked and disgusted at the scene had been watching placidly only moments before, and then he was lurching to his feet. He scooped up a tree limb and launched himself at the woman, swinging wildly. The limb cracked and splintered as it hit her across her shoulder. She wrenched her teeth away from Ford's neck, but didn't let him go. "I need to feed," she hissed as she started to drag him into the water. "Keep the others if you must, but leave me this one."

Ford's struggles renewed as he laid half in the water, and half out. His hands were buried in the mud beneath the waters and Dipper watched as he jerked himself to his knees, lifting up a rock that he had pulled up from the bottom of the pond. He started to strike her in the head until she was finally forced to let go. The Algae-Woman slipped back beneath the water with an ear-piercing shriek.

Dipper reached out to help his Great Uncle, but Ford flinched away from his touch. He stumbled to his feet and looked wildly all around him. The salt-and-pepper hair had been replaced with a soft brown, the wrinkles had disappeared from his face. The woman had somehow sucked away the years; Dipper wasn't sure, but he thought his Great Uncle Ford looked to be in his thirties.

The pupils in Ford's eyes had shrunk until they were only pinpricks. He looked crazy as he swung his head at Dipper.

"Are you okay--" Dipper started to say, only to be cut off as Ford bared his teeth and screeched. "Who are you?! Have you come to steal my eyes?!"

Dipper stumbled back as Ford advanced on him, throwing up his hands in submission. "Whoa, no, man, I've got my own eyes!"

Ford grabbed his face and yanked it up until he was staring at the sun peeping through the trees. He blinked against the brightness, his eyes watering, and then Ford let him go. Dipper rubbed his eyes and when he was finally able to focus, Ford was gone, his footsteps echoing as he ran.


End file.
